


Fingers On Collarbones (like skin, like dirt, like metal)

by RottingBirds



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: After Chapter 53, Canon Compliant, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, Molestation, POV Armin Arlert, Please mind the trigger warnings, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, The fact they never touched upon this mad me mad so here’s my rant/vent about it, Underage Rape/Non-con, vent - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:22:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23863723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RottingBirds/pseuds/RottingBirds
Summary: Forcing his face to relax is hard. Meeting their eyes is harder. Hange and Levi. Report.He swallows again.“I was tied to a chair,” he starts, the blunts of his nails dig into his skin.
Relationships: Armin Arlert & Eren Yeager, Armin Arlert & Jean Kirstein
Comments: 12
Kudos: 112





	Fingers On Collarbones (like skin, like dirt, like metal)

**Author's Note:**

> TW: Mentions and flashback of Non-con
> 
> Please be mindful of the tw, I really don’t want anyone who is upset by this sort of topic to read this!! It’s more important to me that you’re nice to your mental health than it is to read my fic <3
> 
> (Read the notes at the bottom please! I think it’s important to say :))

There were fingers on his collarbone. Armin can remember the way they trailed down his torso and wrapped themselves around his waist, fiddled with the band of his skirt.

Armin scans the trees around him and absentmindedly runs his tongue against his teeth. He winces when he hits a soft spot. The bites there are still painfully tender. He opens his mouth and reaches up, pressing his thumb down on the worst of it. In that warehouse he had bit every inch of his mouth until it was raw and bleeding, talked around the blood, swallowed it down.

He shakes his head and releases the pressure of his thumb. It comes away wet with blood. Stretching out the fraying edges of his shirt he wipes it off, grimaces and spits what’s still in his mouth on the ground. It’s difficult around his swollen tongue and cheeks, but it helps get rid of the taste (of hands that have dipped inside ( _like dirt, like skin, like metal))._

A shudder creeps it’s way down his spine.

Curse that bastard, Dimo Reeves for letting one of his men run off his leash. Fuck the sick bitch who ran his hands along Armin’s thighs, who stroked his face, raked hands through his hair, all because he was allowed.

Armin breathes, shaky and unstable.

He can’t stop thinking about it. His lips snap shut and he almost doesn’t notice how loud his teeth are grinding against each other. They vibrate through his skull when he hits his head on the wall behind him. Armin wants his thoughts to just _shut up._

There are faint voices, just on the other side, faint and unintelligible. Must be about their next plan. Must be about what happened today.

Armin has come to realize these past months that it doesn’t really matter whether the plan that’s been set gets derailed. Only if they could label it as _Success_ or _Failure._ If you die, they check your pulse and listen to hear you breathe and as soon as they confirm you’re dead they’ll move on without a second glance. It’s war. No one gives a damn in the middle of battle if you get a pretty funeral.

He takes his time, allows himself to let his guard down for one moment, continues sitting on the ground. The titans will start to come out soon, he thinks at the setting sun. It’s like it falls faster every day, peeks out over the stretch of green and turns it orange. There aren’t any walls here to block it.

Armin gets up. The building they’ve taken shelter in is well built, albeit a few missing windows here and there. It’s especially good for something they had chosen on a whim. Armin sighs, wipes off his pants, and walks to the door..

Everyone is scattered around the room in fractured groups. Mikasa spares him a small glance as the door shuts behind him, short and indifferent. It’s nothing that isn’t expected from someone like her. Besides, he’d much rather go by unnoticed. It makes it easier for him to tuck himself into a small corner at the back of the room and observe everyone else. He doesn’t feel any inclination to talk.

Armin keeps his head bowed as he makes his way to an open, unbothered space. He hunches in on himself and keeps his arms crossed firm over his chest and hopes it’s enough of a signal to see he isn’t interested in anything they have to say.

But then there’s a hand clamped on his shoulder. It’s so sudden that Armin reels back before he can process who it is. Something forces it way up his throat and he tries hard to push it down. It comes out in a tight squeak. Armin slaps his hands over his mouth.

One person rises to their feet at the noise. Levi. Armin makes the mistake of looking him in the eye. He stares at Armin like he’s ready to fight on his behalf at any second, arms hung in front of his body, leant forward on the balls of his feet. Armin knows there’s nothing to fight.

He never could quite figure out Levi the first few weeks he had spent in his squad. Armin had almost felt inclined to tiptoe around him, scared to do something that would get him riding his back or set him off. But, eventually, he figured out Levi’s thought process. This in turn has made things easier. Levi is the only one Armin can confidently say has no need for hesitation. He knows what it truly means to trust in yourself. Right now, he stands like a bird on the cusp of flight, and Armin’s ears go hot.

“ _Woah_ —”

The hand is removed as quickly as it was placed.

When Armin turns back, Jean looks like a deer caught in headlights with his hands raised to his chest.

“—you scared me half to death, sorry, Armin.”

Armin takes a small step back. He isn’t sure if Jean notices or doesn’t care.

“It’s fine. You just surprised me,” Armin laughs weakly, toying with his fingers. He’s been jumpy all day.

Jean looks like he wants to say something but is quickly cut off.

“Oh, Armin! We were waiting for you to come in.” Hange walks up to him with her usual spark of intrigue. Every time she looks at him Armin can’t help but feel like she’s looking at something she wants to dissect. Eren had agreed when Armin brought it up with him some time ago.

“ _That’s just how she is,_ ” he had said, blew on his food before popping it into his mouth. “ _Word of advice, never let her get her hands on you. She knows how to pick someone apart. Real ego kicker._ ”

So much for that, he figures. He sneaks another glance at Levi and ducks his head when he sees he’s still looking their way. Although he seems annoyed, he no longer looks like a trap ready to spring. 

Hange flicks Armin on the forehead and he’s pulled away. He blinks unimpressed.

“Keep up, why don’t you? Levi and I still need your report before we go torture the bitches in the cellar.”

Armin shakes his head and reaches up to his forehead where she had flicked him. “Yeah,” he says and rubs the spot. “Sorry.”

They take a seat at the wooden table that had previously been pushed towards the wall farthest from the cellar door. The couple of seats available are filled quickly while the rest take up the spaces on the walls. Jean stands behind Armin. He can almost feel his glare in the back of his head. Propping himself with a shoulder leaning on the plank wood, Levi is the first to start talking.

“Hange and I decided to go over today's mission as a group to see what we can improve upon. It obviously didn’t go as smoothly as planned—”

Armin doesn’t miss the look shot his way. He doesn’t miss Mikasa either, despite her attempts to be less obvious. Armin stares hard at a spot somewhere on the wall behind Levi’s head. He clenches his fists into the fabric of his pants.

“—we’re trying to see what went wrong.”

“Think of it as a team-building exercise,” Hange cuts in. “Every one of you at this table was part of this mission in one way or another, so we’re going to go around and discuss our roles in it. A new pair of eyes on any situation is always helpful,” she grins and jabs her thumb in Eren’s direction. “Why don’t you start us off?”

His hand is wrapped white-knuckled around his key, lips pressed tightly together in deep thought. “Hmm?” Hange stares at him intently. Mikasa leans over and whispers in his ear before he dawns in recognition.

“Oh, uh—right, sorry.” The key gets shoved back into his shirt and Eren sheepishly turns to Hange.

Armin can’t focus on a single word that Eren says. He can’t even pay attention if he wants to. The heat from all their bodies pressed into this small area is enough to make him sick, and Armin is too busy panicking over what _he’s_ going to say. He’ll have to tell _everyone_. Once it's out in the open he can’t take it back, can’t pretend, can’t forget. Can’t water it down to broader terms and vague descriptions when Hange and Levi want to know everything that went down where they couldn’t see.

His throat tightens when everyone turns to him. He hadn’t heard Levi call his name.

His eyebrow is arched and he nods in his direction. “Armin?”

Armin swallows. He can barely hear over the loud rush in his ears. _Fingers on his collarbone, around his waist, the band of his skirt._

Forcing his face to relax is hard. Meeting their eyes is harder. Hange and Levi. Report.

He swallows again.

“I was tied to a chair,” he starts, the blunts of his nails dig into his skin. “Jean was too, sat right in front of me.”

It’s hard to breathe. Stick to the facts.

“Mikasa was our lookout. She was supposed to call when the time was right, so I’m sure she saw everything.” Her attention is trained hard on him. “You can always ask her to confirm anything I’ve said at any point.

“That man, one of the guys who works with Reeves, he—“ Armin falters and cuts himself short. Jean’s gaze bores into the back of his head. It makes him uneasy. He tries to hide how he shifts forward. His chest presses into the edge of the table, digs into his sternum.

“—he…couldn’t really keep his hands to himself.”

Armin finds he can’t quite keep his face blank. His eyebrows pinch together and a frown plants itself on his lips. He bunches the fabric tighter.

“He grabbed me, said some gross things. I’m certain it would have been a disaster if it kept going. He would have—uh—“ Armin’s throat tightens and he stutters. He remembers what a close call it was. Remembers the pressure and warmth of hands on his hips .

“—found out I wasn’t… a girl.” he finishes lamely.

Someone snickers but it's quickly muffled. Armin turns to where the sound came from, dreading to see what it is. Sasha covers her mouth but it does nothing to quiet the snorts or hide the smile on her face.

“You mean he would’ve found out you had a penis.”

Armin’s heart stops. He stares unresponsive into Sasha’s eyes. What the hell is wrong with her? His face flares with heat.

That bastard had pushed the skirt up his legs, moved dangerously close to his pelvis. Circled around his hips and back again. Armin had had to cross his legs just to make sure he didn’t go any further. That earned him a squeeze around his jaw and a hard slap to the face. It stung, skin buzzed and bruised.

What’s worse is Sasha isn’t the only one who finds it funny. Connie does too. They share a look before breaking back into fits of laughter. Christa remains blank. She’s the only one who looks somewhat queasy. She glares at the pair. Armin has an idea of what she might be thinking.

That it could have been her instead of him.

“Shut up.” Armin jumps at the voice. It’s hot and in his ears, closer than he’d like. “You have no idea what happened, how could you laugh about it?” Jean spits. It doesn’t do anything to quiet their amusement.

Turning to him, Armin desperately grabs hold of his arm. “Jean, it’s alright. Let them get it out of their system,” he pleads. It doesn’t need to be made worse.

“Fuck, Armin,” Jean looks vaguely horrified. His arm shakes under Armin’s grip and he meets his eyes. There’s something there, deep within. And with a sudden realization, Armin sees that Jean looks _guilty_. He pulls Armin roughly forward by the shoulder and blocks the side of his mouth facing everyone else with his hand, the way children do when they want to share a secret.

“What he did was disgusting, and you think it’s just okay to let them ‘ _get it out of their system’?_ ” Jean hisses in his ear. Armin's stomach churns violently and his other hand finds purchase around Jean's arm. He wants him to get off. Wants his mouth away from his ear, wants to get out of this goddamn room.

“Stop it,” Armin says weakly. ”It would have ruined everything we were working for, please just calm down. I don’t want to make it a big deal, It’s fine.”

“But Armin—“

Armin squeezes tighter into his arm and shoves him away, nauseous. In turn, Jean is the one who grabs Armin’s arms instead. “ _No_.” Jean stumbles. The force in Armin's voice even surprises himself.

His hands leave Jean's body like it burns to the touch. “No, I-I’m sorry.” Armin moves back, frustrated. He sits down in his chair on shaking legs, dragging a trembling hand across his face. “Let me just finish this and leave, okay?”

Armin stumbles over his words for the rest of his report. Forget looking anyone in the eye. He blocks their view with a hand on his temple and stares at the table like it’s the most interesting thing he’s seen in his life. Fuck them if they think it’s funny. Fuck him for letting them.

He waves his hand when he’s done and signals Levi to get the next person started, motions tense and face burning. It’s Jean and Connie’s turn now. Jean speaks through clenched teeth and fixes on a point near Hange’s face the whole time. Armin thinks he can’t stand to look at anyone else. He doesn’t listen to Connie’s report.

The word, “Dismissed,” isn’t yet halfway past Levi’s mouth but Armin is up and leaving. He doesn’t want to deal with anything else right now. Doesn’t want to speak, wants to be alone.

The first empty room he finds is small, a window on the far right illuminates the space. Empty containers litter the room, a stack placed on a ripped and dirtied blanket off to the side. Armin walks to the window and slides down in front of it until his head is out of view from the outside. He presses his palms over his eyes.

A minute to think, it’s all he needs. A minute to collect himself and never think about today again. If he can push it into the far recesses of his head he can forget it ever happened. It’s a desperate thought he clings to, and realistically he knows he won’t ( _can’t_ ) forget it. But he wants ( _needs_ ) to try.

“Armin?”

Armin's neck snaps up in an instant. He hadn’t heard the door open. Whoever it is is illuminated by the torchlight in the hallway, the orange glow rimmed around the edges of their body. It’s not until the door is fully closed that Armin recognizes who it is.

“Eren.”

Walking towards Armin, he’s quiet. Sitting next to him, he’s quiet. Armin can’t tell what he’s thinking.

Eren pauses for a moment then reaches towards his neck. He grabs hold of the cord connected to his key. Starting near the clasp at the back, he runs his fingers along it, up and down, circles and twists it around his fingers.

“I’m sorry.”

Armin frowns. _Sorry?_ “For what?”

Eren shoots him a glance and continues playing with his necklace. Armin has known him long enough to know it’s a habit. He always starts messing with it whenever he thinks about his dad, or when he’s upset or nervous. Armin doesn’t think Eren’s ever noticed it himself.

He clenches his hand around the cord. “I’m sorry for not being there for you. Y’know. Afterwards.”

Armin's frown deepens.

“Eren, we weren’t anywhere near each other afterwards, we were doing different things. And besides, it doesn’t matter anymore they won’t mess with us again.”

“No, Armin.” He sounds frustrated. Eren’s never been the best with words. He searches for a moment. “I’m sorry I didn’t notice something was off. That... that something was _wrong._ ”

Eren looks pained. Armin stops himself from speaking.

“I didn’t notice. _How_ could I not _notice_?”

Oh. 

Armin thinks for a while. How does he even begin to respond to that? _I was almost raped, but it’s okay since it probably wouldn’t have happened anyways because I’m a guy but I still can’t help being scared about it_? Or maybe _I’m fine, even if I’m doing a horrible job of showing it_ _you shouldn’t feel bad because it’s my problem and I don’t want to make you hurt for my pain please just_ _leave me alone I can’t be around you right now, I can’t deal with the pressure in the air or the heat from your body and I want to claw myself from the inside out_?

But instead, he settles on,

“It's okay,” mumbled quietly.

“It’s not your job to notice. I didn’t talk to you after either, be easy on yourself.”

Eren doesn’t answer immediately. He doesn’t know how long they sit like that, Eren spins the cord around his fingers and Armin watches. His eyes are tired and his body is tired and he’s just _tired._ Its quiet, and small, and even in the open air it’s hard to hear. He almost misses Eren breathing out, murmuring.

“Okay.”

Armin smiles.

“Okay.”

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this as a sort of vent fic for how angry I was that this was never discussed, and how in the manga people actually laugh at him! I’ve been extremely lucky to have never been on Armin’s side of things, but I have been on both Jean’s and Eren’s side as a person close to someone who was hurt like this. I am absolutely not romanticizing this in any way, and I want it to be clear that it’s absolutely disgusting that people do this to others. This fic was written solely for the purpose of trying to put some of my feelings into words.


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